


A Family Matter

by apliddell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angelo's Restaurant (Sherlock), First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Good Eurus, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Parentlock, Post-Mary Morstan, S4 AU, first time implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: “It’s not as embarrassing as you think it is to be fond of people. You don’t fool me a bit, of course. But not everyone’s known you thirty-four years.”





	A Family Matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Candle_For_Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/gifts).



> The idea of Sherlock having a secret sister is kind of fun and silly! What if she wasn't evil, and they could just have a chat with her? This is an AU where s4 wasn't in any way Like That.

I walked into 221B Baker Street one rather nasty spring evening to find Sherlock in conference with a pretty young woman in the armchairs by the fireplace. Rosie was deeply asleep in her arms, and I frowned as I shut the door behind me. We don’t usually let clients hold the baby. 

 

I hung my jacket on the hook next to a posh looking leather one, “Am I interrupting? I can take the baby and get out of your hair.”

 

“No need,” Sherlock said imperiously. “Eurus was just leaving.”

 

“I wasn’t,” said the woman with a laugh. “I want to see your-”

 

“And now you’ve seen him, and you can leave,” Sherlock interrupted brusquely. Sherlock stood and held out his arms, “I’ll have my…” he trailed off. 

 

“Yes? Your what?” She laughed again and held up her left arm. “Your watch?”

 

Sherlock looked outraged, “When did you take that?!”

 

“Not telling,” she bent her head and kissed Rosie’s hair. “You’re out of practise.”

 

“Sorry, would one of you spare a moment to tell me exactly what the hell is going on?”

 

The woman stood and turned to face me, and a sort of prickle of recognition passed over me as she answered with a smile, “I do apologise, John. I was leaving it to my brother to make introductions, but I suppose at this rate, we’ll be waiting all night.”

 

I looked at Sherlock, “Brother?”

 

Sherlock sighed, “John, my impossible younger sister Eurus. Eurus, you’ve evidently snooped enough to know everything about John that he might put on the internet.”

 

Eurus pulled a face, “That’s not my real name. It is a very silly stage name that I chose when I was fourteen. Sherlock only calls me that to annoy me.” She looked at Sherlock, “I’m not the only one with an annoying secret name, am I, W-”

 

“Yes, all right!”

 

I smiled, “I know his first name’s William, actually.”

 

“I wasn’t going to say William. Anyway! People mainly call me Vi. My friends do.” 

 

“That’s why I call you Eurus,” Sherlock whisper-shouted, flopping so heavily in his armchair that it skidded back a bit.

 

Vi laughed, “Don’t let him fool you; he adores me.”

 

I looked between the two of them. Sherlock shot me a plaintive look, “Clearly he does. Well. Always erm. Nice to meet a Holmes.”

 

Vi laughed again, “You delicious liar!”

 

“No, he really does mean it,” Sherlock put in from his chair. 

 

“Well, there is Mycroft,” I allowed. 

 

Vi made a little scream of laughter, which she muffled in her shoulder with an anxious glance at Rosie. “Oh I do like you. Sherlock never mentioned you’re funny. And you’re even prettier than your picture.” 

 

“My picture?” I looked at Sherlock, who seemed to be angrily contemplating his manicure. 

 

“Mm, your hair was shorter, but this length suits you.” She looked me up and down, “Newish clothes, skewing a bit more fashion forward than before. Suggests you’re insecure about looking like a dad. Those dark colours don’t suit you, I’m afraid. Too stark. Maybe French blue or royal blue instead of navy. Indigo would be smashing. Navy isn’t quite right for you.”

 

I snorted, “Well you’re definitely a Holmes.”

 

Sherlock harumphed from his chair, “He only likes that when I do it. Go away. Don’t you have junket or something you need to be at?”

 

“No, I told you. I finished with the promotional stuff last week, and I wanted to come and see my dear big brother and meet my niece.” Vi kissed Rosie again. 

 

“Promotional stuff?” I asked. 

 

Vi nodded, “Oh yes, one of my films is coming out this month, and I’ve been in town promoting it, but now I’m all done, and I so wanted to see Sherlock’s family!”

 

“Oh, you’re an actress? I thought you looked familiar!”

 

She nodded, “Mmm, maybe you’ve seen the adverts for my new film? It’s called  _ Sherrinford _ . It’s a bit derivative, but I get to be so evil in it!” She looked at Sherlock with a sly smile, “You know Sherlock used to act as well.”

 

I grinned, “Did he?”

 

Vi nodded avidly, “He was the best Titania his school had ever seen.”

 

“Of course he was! I love it! Sherlock, queen of the fairies!” 

 

Vi shifted Rosie a bit and leaned down to pat Sherlock’s shoulder, “We do love to show off, don’t we?”

 

“Speak for yourself,” said Sherlock, and at that, Vi and I burst into laughter. Sherlock cracked a tiny smile in answer. “You’re both show offs, too. Even you, John.”

 

I grinned, “I think that’s a bit of an open secret in this company.”

 

Vi nodded, “I suppose you must think that since you cast a long shadow, John doesn’t get to enjoy all the showing off he does with you. He does, though. You’ve seen his blog.” She punctuated that speech by prodding Sherlock in the back of the head. 

 

Sherlock hissed and glared, “You two are going to be just insufferable together, aren’t you?”

 

“I suspect we’re both insufferable everywhere,” Eurus looked at me. “Are you going to invite me to speak for myself also?”

 

“Nah, I reckon that’s fair.” 

 

“You’re a good sport. It’s no wonder he adores you.” Vi came toward me and held Rosie out to me. “I’ve really got to dash, but you must let me take you both out to dinner tomorrow night. I’ll bring baby pictures.” 

 

I took Rosie from her, “Baby pictures! It must be my birthday.” 

 

Vi laughed and turned to Sherlock, “Good night, Willsy. Speak soon.” She bent and kissed Sherlock’s cheek, and he kissed hers, scowling unconvincingly. 

 

“Awful,” he muttered. “See you tomorrow.”

 

“You know, Sherlock,” Vi remarked in an undertone. “It’s not as embarrassing as you think it is to be fond of people. You don’t fool me a bit, of course. But not everyone’s known you thirty-four years.” 

 

Sherlock looked rather startled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Vi only bounced her eyebrows, “Good night, big brother. Good night, John. Good night, little niece.” And she sailed to the door and was gone. 

 

“So how many more siblings have you got?” I asked Sherlock when Vi had left. “Why did you never mention her? She seems like good fun.”

 

“Why would I have mentioned her? I wouldn’t have mentioned Mycroft either, if he hadn’t kidnapped you the day after we met.” Sherlock got up and made for his violin, then glanced over at Rosie asleep in my arms and seemed to think better of it. “What shall we have for tea?” 

 

“Really, though,” I persisted, following Sherlock to the kitchen. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange we never talk about that stuff?”

 

“What stuff?” Sherlock opened the fridge and half disappeared into it, “Oh we’ve got lots of that potato thing left.”

 

“C’mon, let’s not do this. I hardly know anything about you or your past or your family or childhood. You don’t think that’s odd?”

 

Sherlock emerged from the fridge, “You know me better than anyone, and my childhood’s got nothing to do with it.”

 

“Well your family is my family now, aren’t they? I should know a bit more about them! Birthdays and things. Key players. I mean obviously I’m going to be a rubbish in law, but I could be a tiny bit better, couldn’t I?”

 

Sherlock went very still at that, the potato thing seemingly forgotten, “You really want to get more entangled with the Holmes family? Fat lot of good it’s done you so far.” 

 

“Well meeting you saved my fucking life, so yeah, I’d say it’s done me a fair bit of good,” Rosie stirred in my arms, and I tucked her over my shoulder and rubbed her back. 

 

“John-”

 

“She’s right, you know.”

 

Sherlock looked down at Rosie and frowned, “The baby?”

 

“Your sister! You can let me in; you can let me be properly part of your life. Don’t you trust me?”

 

“John,” Sherlock pulled out a kitchen chair and sat heavily. I sat down next to him, and he bent and kissed the top of Rosie’s head, stroked the little blond whorl of her hair. It hooked and tugged something in my middle. “It isn’t you I don’t trust.” 

 

Under the table, I bumped my knee against his, “ _ I _ trust you. Doesn’t that count for something?” Sherlock didn’t take his knee away, but he didn’t answer either. “And haven’t we learned that leaving me out doesn’t stop me getting hurt?” 

 

“I’m starting to think,” Sherlock said quietly, “we’ve wandered away from our original topic. Subtextually.” 

 

“We’re raising a child together! You really think it’ll be easier and better and less complicated, if we never talk about how we really-” On my shoulder, Rosie snuffled and began to whimper. I patted her back and dandled her, but her whimpers turned into proper crying, “I’m sorry lovely, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I’m sorry,” I got up and walked her about the kitchen, but she didn’t stop crying. 

 

“John, you are projecting,” Sherlock said. “She’s hungry. Or wet. She isn’t crying because of you.” 

 

“Yeah, well. Suppose I’d better go and see to that.” I turned on my heel and took Rosie upstairs without waiting for an answer. 

 

…

 

I do not understand what is going on.  -SH 

  
  


Bollocks. 

  
  


If I did, would I be putting us through all this?  -SH 

  
  


Please tell me why you are angry with me.  -SH 

  
  


More confused than angry, to be honest. And frustrated. 

  
  


That’s nothing new. I shouldn’t have blown up at you. I’m sorry. 

  
  


So you’re saying you’re always angry with me?  -SH 

  
  


No! That isn’t what I meant. 

  
  


But you can admit our relationship has been confusing and frustrating. Can’t you?

  
  


How so?  -SH 

  
  


Well like now, for instance. You’re trying to have me tell you what I’m thinking and feeling while you tell me nothing. 

  
  


Do you see why that might make me feel like you don’t trust me? Like you don’t want me to be a real part of your life?

  
  


As you said before, we are raising a child together. Shouldn’t the fact that I’m willing to do that preclude the possibility that I don’t want you to be a real part of my life?  -SH 

  
  


Well, it doesn’t! I can’t do this hints thing, Sherlock. I can’t live on scraps like this. Just assume I’m an oblivious idiot and tell me the things you want me to know. 

  
  


Can you do that for me?

  
  


Just talk to me?

  
  


Is Watson sleeping?  -SH 

  
  


Yeah

  
  


Please come downstairs. The texting is getting cumbersome.  -SH 

  
  


…

  
  


“There is something you want me to want to tell you,” Sherlock announced when I met him in the sitting room. 

 

I considered turning and going back up to my room, “Well. Yeah.”

 

“But you don’t want to ask.”

 

My left hand trembled and I shoved it in my pocket, “I feel like we’re not getting more direct.”

 

Sherlock took his chair and waited for me to sit in mine before he continued, “Is it possible that we’re both afraid, and we’re both going to have to. Extend ourselves a bit. Before either of us get what we want?”

 

“That. That’s probably true.” 

 

“All right, then.” Sherlock leaned forward in his chair, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been operating under the presumption that this fact is obvious to you, but you’re as clueless as I am about what to do with it, and you’re annoyed with me for not knowing, because knowing is my job.”

 

I stared at him, “I’m kind of an arsehole in your imagination.”

 

“And outside of it,” Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“Well, yeah. Fair enough.” I leaned forward too, “I’m also in love with you. And you’re. Also an arsehole.”

 

“Clearly. John, I’ve a hypothesis.”

 

“Do tell.” 

 

Sherlock rubbed his hands together for a moment before he spoke again, “Perhaps we don’t know what to do, because we already do most of the things that people who are in love do.” 

 

“Live together and have a child together and work together and moan about each other’s relations. All that?”

 

“Exactly. But there are. Notable omissions from that list.”

 

I grinned, “Is this a throw me on the sofa and have your way with me sort of moment?”

 

“Cheeky.” Sherlock actually blushed, “I was thinking it might be more of a. First kiss? Sort of moment?” 

 

“Genius.” I stood and Sherlock stood, and I got my arms about him. And kissed him. And Sherlock went boneless against me, clutched at my clothes, hummed softly. And I’d have said a kiss couldn’t have mended anything. It shouldn’t have. But somehow it did. 

 

… 

 

“You had sex!” Vi crows in lieu of greeting as John and I join her at a corner table at Angelo’s. 

 

“Lower your voice, please!” I hiss, flushing hot. Don’t dare look at John. 

 

“You put your hand on his back when you pulled out his chair,” she points at me, “Plus the lines between your eyebrows have gone smooth! I knew it’d do you a world of good!” Violet leans in and kisses first John’s cheek, then mine. 

 

“Gentlemen do not kiss and tell, Violet,” loftily as I take my seat. 

 

“And since we’re two gentlemen, we’re doing twice as much shutting up,” John adds, with a very telling smirk in my direction. “I think you said something about baby pictures, back at the flat yesterday?”

 

“Oooh!” Vi digs in her comically oversized bag and pulls out a fat stack of photos. She taps the top one excitedly, pushing it toward John, “You’ll like this! Sherlock’s first wedding!”

 

John promptly chokes on a mouthful of nothing. Pat him on the back and glare at Vi, “Don’t frighten the poor man, Violet. What’s John ever done to you that you’re putting him through all this?”

 

“His first  _ what _ ?” John rasps, grabbing for the picture when he’s mostly finished coughing. 

 

“That’s Himself in the centre there, with the blonde curls. Age eight.” Vi points. “There’s his best friend slash groom, Victor with the sword. Best man, Sherlock’s doggy, Redbeard. And me, just behind Sherlock in the pirate hat. I got to be the captain, just that once, because that meant I could officiate.” 

 

John takes the picture reverently, then turns to me, mouth soft, eyes shining, “This is the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Can I keep this?” 

 

“Sure!” Vi chirps. “But in return, you’ve got to do something for me!” 

 

“Of course he does,” I mutter. 

 

“Hush!” Vi kicks my chair, then reaches into her bag again and pulls out a leatherbound book. She holds the book out to John, and we can see there’s a little brass plate with ‘Family Photos’ inscribed on it on the cover. “Here you are, big brothers! Family photo album, and you’ve got to fill it up with photos of the two of you and my gorgeous little niece. I’ll be back Christmas, and it’s gotta be at least half-full by then.” She wags the book at John. “Have we got a deal?”

 

John takes the book from her, and slides the picture into the first slot, “Yeah, absolutely. Deal.” 

 

…

 

“I don’t understand it,” Sherlock grumbled, punching his pillow and turning over in bed. 

 

I smiled without opening my eyes, “No? You should’ve said before, and I’d’ve explained it to you before we got up to it.” 

 

“Not that,” Sherlock butted his head against my shoulder, and I put my arm about him. “I understood that perfectly well, John.”

 

“Mmyep, noticed.” 

 

Through the baby monitor, we heard a little stirring then soft babbling from Rosie. We both froze, til several seconds of silence passed. 

 

“What I don’t understand,” Sherlock continued in a whisper. “Is why anyone should care what we do. Why would our relationship matter enough to my sister for her to meddle in it?” 

 

I opened my eyes and smiled to find Sherlock’s face very near mine. I kissed him, just because I still need to get into practise, “I’d like the record to reflect that I’m rather pleased she meddled.” Sherlock made a very long sigh through his nose, so I kissed him again. “And anyway. Don’t you care what I do?”

 

“Fervently, excessively, and with every fibre of my being,” Sherlock answered promptly. 

 

“Because you love me.”

 

“Oh.” Sherlock seemed to consider that for a bit, “That’s all?”

 

“That’s all. Anyway, you’re nosey yourself. Runs in the family, doesn’t it?”

 

“Hmph,” Sherlock nosed my hair and he was quiet long enough that I thought he’d gone to sleep.    
“I suppose,” he said very quietly as if he himself weren’t sure I wasn’t asleep, “I suppose Baby Watson will be rather nosey.” 

 

I grinned and kissed his nose, “Yeah, I suppose she will.” 

 

And I couldn’t exactly see Sherlock’s smile in the dark. But I think I could feel it. 


End file.
